Meltdown by Ruth Owen Page B

bargain-hungry electronic brain. The technical aspects bewildered him. He wanted to ask her a hundred questions at once. How did he isolate his choices? What criteria determined his selection? How did he reach an independent decision of this magnitude without assistance?
    He didn’t ask any of these things. Human curiosity got the better of him. “What did he buy you?”
    Melanie’s wry expression told him she didn’t share his enthusiasm, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips as she dutifully opened the package. Chris could tell that, in her own way, she was as entertained by the computer’s quirks as he was. “He orders the strangest things. He has good reasons for what he buys—or what he thinks are good reasons—but he doesn’t understand.…”
    She stopped looking down at the contents of the package. “E, you’ve outdone yourself. What am I going to do with golf balls?”
    Not just golf balls. Glow-in-dark golf balls.
    “Okay,” she said, smiling, “what am I going to do with glow-in-the-dark golf balls?”
    Nothing.
    “Then why did you buy them for me?”
    Not for you. For Chris.

Five
    “For C-Chris?” Melanie stammered, her emotions tumbling. “You bought them for Chris?”
    Natch. Know likes golf. He gives me things. I give him things. Need balls to play. So bought them.
    So bought them. Einstein’s simple words reverberated through Melanie’s mind, adding to her already considerable confusion. Chris’s gentle intimacy during the pre-rap moments had bewildered her, making her doubt everything she knew about the man. Not to mention everything she knew about herself. And now E—her E—had bought him a present.…
    Chris’s low rumble of laughter curtailed her thoughts. “Glow-in-the-dark golf balls,” he said. “That’s a new one on me.”
    Einstein’s screen brightened.
Can play whenever want now. All the time. Even at night.
    “Thanks, E. That’s very thoughtful of you,” he said, flashing Melanie a rakish grin. “I always have trouble figuring out ways to fill those long, sultry evenings.”
    The bright humor in his eyes and the hedonisticthoughts it implied sent an electric jolt through her. She’d bet money that Chris had a black book crammed with phone numbers of beautiful women who were more than happy to help him fill his evenings—especially the long, sultry ones. An uncharacteristic tinge of jealousy pinched at her emotions, and she turned away, more annoyed with herself than with him. “Einstein was only trying to do something nice for you,” she said with more sharpness than she intended. “He’s never bought anyone besides me a present before. You should be flattered.”
    “I am flattered. Very much so. But come on, genius. Glow-in-the-dark golf balls? That’s pretty funny stuff.”
    Melanie tossed the package of golf balls down beside Einstein’s monitor. She should have known better than to expect Chris Sheffield to take anything seriously. She turned her back to him, facing a small, little-used monitor console, and mumbled, “You
would
say that.”
    “And what,” Chris drawled, “is that supposed to mean?”
    She adjusted several unimportant calibration dials on the console. “We really need to get to work. These dials have been out of sync for more than a week—”
    “I asked you a question.”
    “All right,” she said, spinning back to face him. “It means I’m sick and tired of the way you’re treating Einstein, like he’s just one big joke.”
    “That’s not true. I’m working like a dog to make this presentation a success. You said so yourself.”
    “Right, while you were eavesdropping,” she accused, her voice warming with anger. “You’re working hard, all right. But you’re working for your own interests, not for Einstein’s. If it weren’t for thatpromotion you want so badly, you wouldn’t give him the time of day. You don’t care about how much he needs you, or about how special he thinks you are, or how important